The Forbidden Fruit of Surbition
by Arien Laurelin
Summary: The Goods attempt to grow apples. It's more excting than it sounds.


Disclaimer.  
  
As much as I wish I did own them, I don't. Wouldn't Tom and Barbara look cute on my shelf? Anyway, I always return them in better condition than before I borrowed them.  
  
  
  
'Look a' that!' A course, work-worn hand tanned by the sun held a green apple roughly the size of a golf ball. The hand, attached to an arm clad in a navy jumper that had been darned time and time again was shaken from the shoulder as it thrust the near-ripe apple directly under the nose of Tom Good's neighbor.  
  
To Jerry Ledbetter, this apple was no bigger deal than the hot drink he had just had. He, in his somewhat arrogant, nonchalant fashion gave Tom the tiniest of shrugs and kept his own clean hands tucked in the safe confines of his tweed pockets. 'One would think you're the serpent tempting Eve, Tom.'  
  
Tom was too pleased with the success of the first apple of the season to be deflated by Jerry's patronizing humor. Instead he played along, leering at Jerry over the apple. 'Just one bite, that's all it takes to be as wise as -'  
  
Jerry turned his face away and gave him a sarcastic nod. 'Alright Tom, you've got the part.' He studied the apple critically. 'It's not very big, is it.'  
  
Tom gave him a withering look and dropped the apple to his side, leaning back and holding on to the fence with one hand. 'It's not supposed to be! Do you think apples just appear on trees as big as they're meant to be? They have to grow first Ledbetter.'  
  
'Speaking of growing Tom, I think that's something you ought to do.'  
  
'Eh?'  
  
'Grow up. Little boys and their toys, I don't know …'  
  
The proud fruit grower gave him a sardonic grin. 'You should know all about toys. Electric toothbrushes and electric cocktail mixers and electric shavers … Lord help you if you ever lost electricity – speaking of which, didn't that once-'  
  
'Ah ha, maybe so, but as far as I remember your generator packed it in that- '  
  
'Alright Ledbetter, do you think I've time to stand around here gasbagging all morning?' snapped Tom. Jerry began to chuckle his trademark laugh and Tom kept talking though it, backing away from the fence. 'There's fruit to be tended to! Sold!'  
  
'Oh you're selling it, are you?'  
  
'Barbara and me. Taking it down to the market when they're big enough.'  
  
Jerry feigned adoration. 'Oh, when they're big enough … it seemed to be only yesterday that they were just seedlings in my palm …'  
  
Tom kept walking back towards the house in his Wellingtons. 'Just you wait and see, Jerry. Barbara and me'll make a few bob out of them. Best apples in Surbition.'  
  
'Forbidden fruit of Surbition, more like it,' muttered Jerry as he headed towards his house with the Daily Mirror on his mind. He soon forgot all about Tom and Barbara's apples on their allotment.  
  
  
  
It wasn't at all long before the measly green golf balls became plump, glossy green cricket balls. Well pleased with themselves, Tom and Barbara picked as many as they could see from their few trees in their allotment, looking like two little kids on Christmas morning.  
  
'It was good of Jerry to lend us his car,' Barbara called down. She was on the ladder, half hidden amongst the leafy canopy the tree provided. One by one she would pick the apples and carefully drop them into the sack attached to the top of the ladder.  
  
Below her Tom plucked fruit from the lower branches. 'Lend it to us? Swine. It wasn't without a proviso, mind you love.'  
  
'Proviso?' Barbara stopped picking to look down and used the opportunity to push her fringe out of her eyes and the little bits of hair that escaped from her headscarf. 'What do you mean?'  
  
'Jerry lent us the car for a half dozen apples.'  
  
Barbara went back to picking. 'Hardly unreasonable.'  
  
'Don't know about you, but I was on the surprised side of things.'  
  
'Surprised? Why?' She called absently.  
  
Tom was smirking. 'Thought he only drank apple cider. That way he wouldn't have to chew his apples.'  
  
Barbara giggled. 'Well Tom, when it comes to good apples, even aristocracy come round.'  
  
A sudden thought struck Tom and he looked up, sheltering his eyes from the sun with one hand. 'Hang on a minute …!'  
  
'What?'  
  
'Good Apples!'  
  
She looked down blankly, pausing with one hand around the stem of the apple she was about to pick. '…. I should hope so.'  
  
'No love, listen. Good Apples. Good! Tom and Barbara Good! Good Apples!' He beamed delightedly up at her. 'Get it?'  
  
Her smile was endearing and she climbed down the ladder so she was at his head height, meaning her feet were two or so rungs off the ground. 'You are a genius, aren't you,' she said, a little girly grin on her face.  
  
Tom's face peeped through the rungs at hers. 'I am I am I am. So what do you think? Good Apples?'  
  
'I think it's lovely,' she said as she leant forward to kiss his lips quickly. Thunk. The apple her hand had been on had given up under the pressure of her fingers and fell like the sister to Newton's Apple and straight on to Tom's head. The kiss broke and Tom looked up in surprise, rubbing his head. Barbara struggled not to laugh.  
  
'Well that settles it,' Tom said. 'It's a sign.'  
  
  
  
  
  
Margo Ledbetter crossed one leg over the other. The palest of orange chiffon dress shifted as she did so, forming new tidy folds. She studied her nails for the slightest flaw or imperfection. 'Jerry, I have told you before and I shouldn't think I shall have to say it again. You have the entire collection of Mantovani on the shelf and yet you insist on listening to that yahoo music.'  
  
Jerry kept his back to her and took a long, long time to prepare his drink. 'Look Margo, we've had this debate before. I happen to like the New Seekers and I don't bloody well listen to them when you're about, do I? So what the bloody hell are you complaining about?'  
  
Margo looked up sharply from her nails. 'Don't you "look Margo" me. And don't use that language in the house.'  
  
'It's my house!' He turned around, cheeks flushed and drink in hand.  
  
'And it's mine as well; so for the sake of being a gentleman kindly do not use that excessive language again.'  
  
Jerry bit his tongue and settled in his chair, determined to ignore her. '… Tom and Barbara's apples are really taking off, aren't they.'  
  
Margo let him change the subject. 'I suppose so … though I really don't understand why they do it … there's no shortage of apples at the grocers' now is there.'  
  
'They're not doing it because there's a shortage of apples,' Jerry explained, beginning to get exasperated. 'They're doing it because they enjoy it.'  
  
'Yes, well.' Margo mused, looking back rather thoughtfully to her nails. 'I'm beginning to understand that Tom and dear Barbara's sense of enjoyment has much to be desired.'  
  
'I'm beginning to agree with you.'  
  
'Mmm … yes ….' Her pondering was cut short when the Goods themselves knocked on the patio door and let themselves in.  
  
'Hullo!' Barbara chirped cheerfully.  
  
'Barbara, Tom, what a nice surprise. Do come in, sit down.' Margo warmly waved them in. 'Drinks Jerry.'  
  
Jerry shot her a look but said nothing. He only rose to fetch the drinks. Tom occupied his vacant seat as soon as he was up.  
  
'Sorry to pop in on you like this,' Barbara said, smiling and a little apologetic. 'But we've a slight problem.'  
  
'Oh, so another problem ceased long enough for a new one to begin?' Jerry said, smart.  
  
'Yeah, we hadn't seen your ugly mug for a day or so,' Tom teased.  
  
'What sort of problem dear? Is it serious?' Pressed Margo, ignoring both Jerry and Tom.  
  
Barbara waved it away, shaking her head as she accepted Jerry's offered drink. 'Oh no. Nothing like that. See Tom and me … that is …'  
  
'We want to lend your car again,' Tom piped in.  
  
'Absolutely not,' Margo shook her head firmly, but Jerry spoke over her.  
  
'For another half dozen apples?' Tom nodded. 'Done.'  
  
Margo turned in her seat to glare at her husband. 'Well thank you very much! Lending out our vehicle without consulting me first! What if I need it for something!'  
  
'Do you need it for something?' Tom asked instantly.  
  
'… Well …. No …'  
  
'Then there we are!'  
  
'…. But I may need it!'  
  
'Please Margo,' Barbara lent across the sofa, giving her the most endearing and sweet smile she had. 'We'll only have it for a little bit. See Tom and I need to get all our apples to market and we can't carry them …'  
  
'Our mule's lame,' added Tom.  
  
Margo shot him a look. 'Very well Barbara, if it's for your fruit. However- ' she quickly cut off the little jig of joy Tom performed. 'I do not wish to have that dreadful goat inside my vehicle again. Last time there was an awful mess …'  
  
'The little pile of black cherries? Sorry about that. Old Geraldine's a fruit grower herself you know …' Tom trailed off when he saw Margo's expression. He grabbed Barbara's hand and dashed for the door. 'Thanks for the drink Jerry!'  
  
  
  
The morning sun was in their eyes as the Goods stood at their little stall. It consisted only of themselves and a small crate containing their apples. Tom looked back a forth across the laneway they occupied, squished amongst dozens of other merchants.  
  
'I don't get it,' Tom said, a touch of finality in his voice. 'Doesn't anybody buy good apples anymore, let alone Good Apples?'  
  
Barbara nodded to a stall that sold various cakes. 'It's that one there with their apple cakes and apple cider, pinching all our business.'  
  
'That's the problem with people today, they're all a bunch of Jerrys, too rich to chew their own fruit.'  
  
'Go and have a word to Mrs. Apple Cider then about it.'  
  
'Yeah, should. But what would I say?'  
  
'You could ask her how we could mince our apples up into cider.'  
  
Tom looked from the stall to her. 'Oh don't you start.'  
  
Barbara shook her head, refraining from laughing. 'I don't think I could. After that experience with Geraldine's butter settlement and your dirty chicken hand, I don't think I fancy mulching anything up again!'  
  
Tom began to reply, but was interrupted. A short skinny little man in green nodded to their crate. 'Sellin'? 'Ow much?'  
  
Tom's face lit up when he told him, and proudly handed over a dozen apples. He put his arm around Barbara's waist. 'There, see love? Now Mrs. Apple Cider's in trouble, that one of her customers has tasted our forbidden fruit …'  
  
They were again interrupted. 'Your own, are they?'  
  
Standing before them was a woman, perhaps thirty years old. She had on worn jeans and an equally tired knitted jumper. Untidy brown hair was pulled back from her face from clips behind her ears.  
  
Tom nodded. 'That's right.'  
  
'Where're you growing them?'  
  
Barbara and Tom glanced at each other, and Tom grinned wickedly at the woman. 'Secret, secret!'  
  
'I didn't mean to intrude,' said the woman and held out her hand to them both, which they shook. 'Theresa Quinn.'  
  
'I'm Tom Good and this is my wife, Barbara,' smirked Barbara, receiving a nudge from Tom. But Theresa laughed.  
  
'I hope you don't mind my interest in your apples.'  
  
'Not at all, not at all,' Tom said graciously. 'They're for sale, you know.'  
  
Theresa shook her head. 'Oh I'm sorry, I'm not interested in purchasing any I'm afraid. It's just that I'm on a farm about forty minutes from here, and I grow my own apples too.'  
  
'Do you now!' Tom said smiling, even though prospect of competition was alarming.  
  
'I don't sell them at market,' Theresa went on. 'I've just come today with my mother's cake stall. I drove her out.' She nodded to Mrs. Apple Cider, and Tom and Barbara had to refrain from laughing. 'I sell mine in bigger bulk than you do I suppose, I sell them to grocers'. Might be going into exporting. Any road, that's not my point. I'm always interested in other growers' methods and I was wondering if you'd share yours with me.'  
  
'Well Tom and me,' began Tom, shooting his wife a grin. 'That is Barbara and me go for the method of the good old man upstairs himself. Chuck down a few seeds and let the forbidden fruit grow on its' own.'  
  
'How do you mean?' Theresa looked puzzled. 'You mean you don't spray them, you don't look after them at all? You just let them grow?'  
  
'Spot on love, spot on.'  
  
Barbara frowned. '..why, should we?'  
  
Theresa nodded. 'Of course! Don't you understand weevils and things like worms get to them? Your entire stock might be infected! I should take these off the market just to be safe, and be more careful in the future!'  
  
Tom and Barbara just stared at her.  
  
'I should be much more careful,' Theresa finished, beginning to go about her business. 'Well, good luck to you both. I hope it's not a complete disaster.'  
  
Barbara waited till Theresa was well out of sight. 'Tom!' She cried, turning to him. 'Do you think she's right?!'  
  
The little man in green returned with a half-eaten apple in one hand. 'I want me money back!'  
  
'Y'what?!' Tom exclaimed.  
  
'Look 'ere.' The man pointed at the flesh of the fruit. 'It's full o' worms, this is! So was the last one I ad'!'  
  
Tom and Barbara slowly looked at each other.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. 


End file.
